Unto the Breach
by LadyKG
Summary: The first time he saw the world rolled out in plains of red and grey he was not so suddenly suprised. When he opened his eyes to a white ceiling and lumpy mattress, lungs clear of blood, eyes clear of ash; he was. The seventh time, he was not. (Rated M for safety.)


**Disclaimer: Naruto does NOT belong to me. None of the characters belong to me.**

 **The picture used for this story does NOT belong to me.**

 **Thanks! Please enjoy, and please review!**

* * *

The first time he saw the world rolled out in plains of red and grey had not come as a sudden surprise.

There had been no last push against the foe with a battle cry that promised nothing less than absolute victory.

No daring charge from uncertain ground swept into life by grasping hands of hope.

No.

They had left the world for open mass graves in increments, as the shadows stole light after shining light from the fields, indiscriminate in its rampage.

The first time, he had leaped in with a vigor sought by those of wiser age, with no regard to looking back and every insurance that they could not lose. Naivety cost them. All the wild innocence, shining bright in eyes too young, had cost them. With no ability to believe in failure they had thrown themselves into battle, and lost.

No. Their lives had not ended with a roaring courageous act. Suicide missions were too prominent for that.

No. The world had gone out in a whisper, the resounding silence only broken by the echo of falling rock as the land crumbled.

* * *

He opened his eyes to a white ceiling and lumpy mattress. Lungs clear of blood. Eyes clear of ash.

The second time he thought he could change it all, save them all, stop it all. Before the world was overrun by Shinigami in dark robes cutting the souls of dead comrades from the earth. Before the lilies sprang to bloom in reds. Before he watched his teammate gutted, blood matted thick in brown hair that washed clean in pink strands.

The second time was worse.

* * *

When he was younger someone once mentioned in passing that the third time would be the charm. Looking back he wished he could correct their misconceptions.

* * *

Once he had attempted to rid the world of the main threats before they could spread the finer strands of web too far. Taking them out was easy enough with the years of experience, of knowledge, he cultivated. Stopping everyone else from finding out was something he had not considered in his mad dash to _fix_ everything.

He had not even imagined that they would turn their blades to his neck; they had been comrades for so long after all.

He was wrong. Forgetful, perhaps in his old age, that they had not, would never, fight back to back in desert sands as war raged down upon them. That they had not, would never, slip into caves at night and be forced to huddle for warmth as a fire was too dangerous. That they had not, would never, feel the fear of everything you love wiped away in a single technique. That they had not, would never, understand why he kept a copy of an orange book tucked in the pocket of his jacket, right over his heart.

Forgetful that they did not love him in this time. Forgetful that the villagers saw a monster when he was nothing more than a cage.

Forgetful. And dead.

* * *

When soft hands slid to grasp his own, he did not protest. When they tugged softly, he did not draw back. When they tore at clothes and skin alike in desperation, he did not deny. When they fell limp from his face, cold, he did not cry.

* * *

His sensei inquired to the reason he hung flowers from his window.

He wanted to say they were meant to mourn.

Lilies.

Pink carnations.

White chrysanthemums.

Ino had taught him much on flowers the last time. When they laid in bed and he could look at her without seeing glazed eyes and blood blonde hair, he would listen to her spell out meanings with punctuated hand motions. The few she made that did not bring death. Her eyes beautiful in the moonlight, sweat and sex lingering in the air, clogging his senses.

She had died brutally that loop. Found a week after she went missing on a simple supply mission. Hair ripped from her scalp, eyes half gouged out with a kunai for each finger and a stake through her naked chest. Body dangling from a tree while liquid seeped from between her legs.

He said he liked the way they looked.

Sensei asked why he did not have a nasturtium.

He said they would not survive.

* * *

He thought those who raved in mentions of the will of fire to be dimwitted and delusional. What good was will when you watched your lover be broken in half on a battle field. What good was will when you witnessed your best friend tear themselves to pieces in a chakra exhausted haze trying to save those who could not be, trying to heal those already dead. What good was will when blood that was not your own soaked you to the bone in icy shards you could not melt away. What good was will when you knew that you could not save them. Not even one.

* * *

Ino was an expert in minds. That was always accepted. Shikamaru was a genius. That was never doubted. Choji was a powerhouse. That was not questioned.

Ino-Shika-Cho was a force to be reckoned with. That was common knowledge.

They never survive more than five years into the war. That is a fact.

He found they never went out the same order though. Once, Choji had gone first, in a glorious attempt to save a group of academy students shoved onto the front lines too early and barely out of practice with training kunai. They had all died.

Next went Shikamaru, taking an attack meant for him blindly believing that should he live another day it would mean the lives lost were not done so in vain. Idiot.

Ino died giving her life force through kinjutsu to Gaara; the kages were needed to win, the most powerful. Gaara took a fatal blow a month later when Suna's walls fell under a relentless wave of enemies. He gave his brother enough time to evacuate the civilians and their injured, pregnant sister.

He and Temari had a joint funeral the next week.

Kankuro joined them after a grief ridden streak of suicide missions. When the ANBU found him his best puppets were in shambles and there was a smile on his face.

* * *

Despite everything; war, death, reliving, and losing each time.

Despite everything, he still found comfort in the arms that wrapped around his waist, hugging tightly as if to ground him. As if saying; this is it, the time everything will turn out right.

It wasn't Sakure, Hinata, Ino, Gaara, or Sasuke the first time he fell. No. They came later, when he was already blind from grief. When he had already lost hope.

The first came from Kakashi. Both wild in loss and desperate for release. It had been passionate and quick, holding on too tight with too much to fear and too little to grasp in hope. It was the first, but not the most painful.

Itachi came as a surprise. He had not meant to stumble upon the relationship they formed after he convinced Sasuke that Itachi was innocent. After the truth was revealed. Their love was not wild and lost, it was thick and whole. Lingering touches and heated glances when the other was not looking. Pushed together by exasperated friends in a cliché romance story way.

Their first kiss was soft, barely there. It dissolved swiftly into greedy hands and teeth.

He told him everything. He understood.

It was the farthest he made it in any timeline. Victory tangible, so close and all the more sweet with the feeling of Itachi's mouth still on his lips.

He kills Danzo first, in every rotation, now.

* * *

He can feel the blood pooling along his arm. Warm and thick, sticky as it dries from the heated air. The heart in his hand is no longer beating and he takes sick pleasure in crushing it between his fingers.

That is the last one.

The last citizen of Konohagakure.

They won't have to suffer through a war if they are dead.

* * *

One rotation, he unleashes Kurama, a fox that does not know him nor the comrades he has fought with. He learned early on that the nine tails does not come back with him.

It comes as little shock, for he has been playing this game too long, when it is Itachi that kills him this time.

He does not release the fox again.

* * *

As he takes his last, shuttering breath in, he wonders absently what the afterlife is like. Surely he will be seeing his loved ones now, now that he has succeeded. The five nations are safe, survived. Gaara has named his successor. Temari and Shikamaru's little girl has grown and become a renowned shinobi. Ino and Choji have since passed, the funeral held by their band of children the month prior. Hinata is preparing her son for the roll as clan head, explaining the history of the curse mark, and how it was removed. Sakura and Lee are in Iwa, visiting old friends from the war. All their old sensei have since passed. The next generation is safe, at peace, already surpassing the last.

Surely, surely he will move on... surely... surely...

He opened his eyes to a white ceiling and lumpy mattress.


End file.
